


How to Stay Warm

by Knifey_ShivDark



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bromance, Hot Springs & Onsen, Male Friendship, Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 15:01:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3982435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knifey_ShivDark/pseuds/Knifey_ShivDark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Solas and Dorian are discreetly bros, Dorian gets drunk, Bull and Adaar have a little friendly competition and Solas needs to be an introvert for a while and ends up showing himself a good time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Stay Warm

The Elvhen’an possess several physiological differences from humans; the most notable of them being, of course, their ears. The next key difference would be their stature. They have often been described as small, lanky, and lithe. If one were to look closer as to why that is, they would find that the metabolic functions of the Elvhen’an occur at a rate roughly twenty-seven percent times faster than an average human, and fifty-three percent times faster than a dwarf. Their metabolic rate when compared to the average Qunari is unknown, as only two specimens are available for study at this time. 

The biological consequences of this accelerated metabolic rate are a much faster resting heart rate than the other ‘higher cognitive races’ (heretofore referred to as just ‘races’) of Thedas (at 235-248 beats per minute being a healthy average), and a preference for several small high-energy meals throughout the day. Another consequence is that the Elvhen’an have a much higher body temperature, at 79 degrees centigrade, where as humans, dwarves and the two Qunari specimens, have normal temperatures of 37 degrees, 30 degrees, and 42 degrees, respectively.  
With a much higher internal body temperature than the other races it comes as a surprise for some to learn that the Elvhen’an do not sweat. Indeed they are the only one of the four races that does not do so. Rather they regulate their body temperature only by several tightly clustered blood vessels and veins set closely under the skin of (and around) their distinctive ears, and the tops of their feet. This is why most Elvhen’an prefer to be barefoot, and have developed thickened and desensitized skin on the soles of their feet to accommodate this. Were an Elvhen’an to overheat, it is recommended to apply cold compresses to these areas. Conversely, on the (very rare) occasion that they become chilled, additional protections and coverings are sufficient to restore comfort, and are in fact essential to prevent frostbite in these vital areas.

That being as it was, Solas was _freezing_. 

Scout Harding’s report said that Emprise du Lion had experienced an unusual cold snap this spring. Solas had taken that to mean chilly nights and breezy days, perhaps with a bit of frost, and had packed accordingly. He most certainly did not prepare for knee deep snow, biting frigid winds and a deep and swift moving river to be completely frozen over.

When they set camp just outside of Surina a couple of weeks ago Solas immediately dug his own small fire pit near his tent and with an effort of will set it to flame and planted himself there, feet as close to the fire as possible. There he stayed for the most part. Small excursions from this spot were tolerable, but when Herah Adaar announced that they were going to clear out the quarries and set camp by its nearby tower Solas grit his teeth and got on with it.

In so far he was able to stay somewhat warm by using a modified fire spell to superheat the palms of his hands and placing them over the tips of his ears for few moments. The increased frequency with which he had to do this was starting to become bothersome, but nobody seemed to notice, so it had not impeded the work they were doing. 

No sooner had he thought this than Dorian began rummaging in his pack; his pace slowing to match Solas’s at the back of the party. With a huffed ‘ah-ha’ of triumph the necromancer procured a wad of something and shoved it at Solas’s chest with a grim sort of smile and without a word sauntered his way back to the middle of the group, proclaiming his displeasure at the bitter cold.  
Solas peered at the grey and black wad that he grabbed in instinct. Socks. Thick socks. Thick socks made of wool. Wool which retains its heat and warmth even when wet. Dorian had given Solas his thick warm woolen socks. Then proceeded to complain loudly to their roguish Inquisitor and The Iron Bull about his ‘freezing footsies’. 

Which was typical for the other mage, Solas mused as he paused to put those socks on his own ‘footsies’. Dorian frequently masked other people’s struggles, and his own kindnesses in response to them, with his vivacious and flamboyant mannerisms. No doubt a habit formed in the upper echelons of Tevinter society, where an act of kindness could be construed as a mark of favor, and showing favor to the wrong person would get one killed. Likewise, showing gratitude for said kindness would get your benefactor killed. Thus behaving as though nothing of consequence happened would be thanks enough. A fact that Dorian knew that Solas was well aware of. 

Were a charcoal rubbing of a stone taken from a temple ruin in the northeastern wilds of the Imperium that Dorian had been puzzling over for several weeks in Skyhold inexplicably be accompanied by a document translating the stone’s ancient Elvhen to Arcanum, however, they would both know where it came from and why it was there.

Dorian’s socks were sufficient to restore some modicum of comfort for Solas, although he remained somewhat chilled for the duration of clearing the quarry, freeing the captives, routing the red Templars and giants from the keep, repairing the bridge, and killing three dragons. 

Their final night at Emprise du Lion found the Inquisitor and The Iron Bull still hot-blooded and rowdy after their three consecutive dragon slayings and Dorian complaining loudly and bitterly about the lack of anything resembling a decent vintage of alcohol. If this night was indicative of the two week journey about to come, Solas needed to find solitude and quiet now while he still could.

That decided, he packed up his tent and gear, pulled on Dorian’s socks, and informed the Inquisitor that he would be spending the night in the ruins of the Pools of the Sun. Citing their cultural significance to the Dalish, and expressing a desire to explore what would be there, just on the other side of the Veil. Adaar thought that this was a spectacular idea, made a joke about how aside from his support and defensive spells in combat, his most valuable contribution to the Inquisition was from _sleeping_ , and provided Solas with a document of order, to be given to the border guard and scouts stationed at the Pools, telling them to give Solas a wide berth. She then proceeded to continue her head butting contest with The Iron Bull.

A little over an hour later found Solas in the lee of a coliseum like structure accompanied only by his tent, the crackling of his fire, the whisper of the wind in the trees and the soft bubbling of the out of the way hot spring in the area he silently declared as his own. After setting several wards around his campsite and placing a small barrier around the fire to keep it from going out or spreading out of control, he crawled into his shelter. 

This trip to Emprise du Lion was not his first time winter camping, and he usually found the snow under his sleeping palette to be quite comfortable, comparatively speaking. It was certainly more so than having roots or rocks digging into him, and had significantly more give than the solid stone of most ruins. Normally the thickness of his bedroll was enough of a barrier between him and the cold snow that the slight chill that did get through the layers was somewhat refreshing.

Not this time, however. Not after spending nearly six weeks in a bitter cold that he was not prepared to endure. Especially not after having the icy chill permeate into his skin and muscles and settle resolutely into his very bones. He was not freezing, but was just cold enough to be uncomfortable, and just uncomfortable enough to prevent him from falling into sleep. 

This would not do. Two hours, thirty-one minutes, and seventeen seconds of tossing and turning for comfort and listening to the crackle of his fire and the susurrus of the hot spring was enough. Solas sat up from his bed roll and pulled off those socks, his shirt, leggings, and smalls and ventured outside. Clothed only in his jawbone pendant and an undyed woolen blanket slung loosely around his hips the firelight cast his skin into a soft golden glow. Picking his way across the few meters of detritus between his tent and the spring was simple. 

The first step into the frothing water was divine. Solas could literally feel the heat slowly caressing up from his feet, eating away at the ice that seemed to infuse in his very blood, simply from standing in ankle deep water. Taking a breath of the steaming air he slid the blanket from around his waist, and a few flicks of his wrist saw it folded and placed on a nearby moss covered boulder. 

Solas bent and scooped hot water into his cupped hands, and brought them up to splash onto his scalp. His hands were hot and wet on his sensitive ears, causing him close his eyes and groan at the delicious contrast of the gnawing cold in his body and blissful warmth of the water. Rivulets of heat that sparkled in the firelight like stars in the night sky coursed over his face, his neck, getting caught in the leather cord of his pendant and cooling only slightly as it trailed down his chest and trickled past his navel and dripped further to tease his member with warmth, the organ twitching at the sensation.

Chest heaving from the almost overwhelmingly wonderful heat Solas stepped further into the spring. The warmth of the water spreading almost painfully slowly up his calves, covering his knees, his thighs, the depth of the pool barely enough to touch the beginning of the curve of his ass. Solas could not help the obscene moan as the hot water splashed between his thighs and against his balls and the sensitive skin behind them.

Gasping he let his long fingers trail through the steaming water and lifted them once again to his head. More streams of lovely warmth over his face, ears, neck, shoulders and down. He allowed his hands to follow them, tangling into the cord and bone, fingernails catching at nipples turned stiff from the absolute pleasure of the hot water, causing a hiss to escape his gritted teeth. Solas’s hands came to rest on his abdomen, just under his diaphragm and he opened his glazed over eyes, gazing down at himself. He was hard and jutting from between his legs. The pleasure of contrast between the biting cold and the smooth caramel warmth causing blood to pound in time with the throbbing of his cock, each beat causing the head to creep further and further out of the foreskin.

How long had it been, he mused. How long since the last time he felt the press of flesh against flesh, felt the ghost of a warm breath against his neck, gently sunk his own teeth into the sensitive tip and lobe of another’s ears, since his hands had caressed another’s skin, or nails bit red lines down his back?

A very long time; thousands of years in fact. Literally ages. There was only so long that a person could go without touch, or being touched. It had been so long now Solas’s body was reacting quite enthusiastically to any sensual stimulus. He would be lying if he declared that the searing spring water eating away at the tension in his muscles and cold in his bones did not qualify.

He let his hands trail down further, one to just barely dip into the blissful water and gently cup his balls, the other to grasp the velvet hard erection and stroke. Down, and slowly back up again, was enough to pull a rumbling groan from deep in his chest. A thumb stroking the clear liquid pearling at his tip around the head garnered a gasp and sigh. Solas set a slow and deliberate pace of one hand while the other delicately massaged the skin between his thighs and pressed his fingers into that place just between his balls and ass. The pace was slow, agony, delicious and exactly what he needed. Feather light strokes, gentle fingers over and over again until he was shivering from the effort to keep from sinking to his knees in bliss. 

Then he tightened his fingers at the head of his flushed cock and squeezed on the down stroke. His hips snapped forward and he groaned, biting his lip and letting his head fall back to keep it from becoming a shout. Again and again, he rutted and rocked into his hands, no longer able to maintain the languid motions from before. Breath coming in audible gasps with each motion of his hips. The coil in his loins growing tighter and tighter. Breaths becoming moans as he lifted one hand to scrape his nails painfully over his bare scalp making him moan loudly at the sting, the sensation serving only to increase the pleasure. His hand grasped the back of his neck tightly while the other continued to stroke a white knuckled fist over his throbbing cock, the hot water splashing, speckling his abdomen in little pinpricks of heat, his body shivering in the heat of the steam, becoming more and more fevered in his movements. That coil growing tighter and hotter the more violently he thrust and stroked. Closer… Closer. Right there.

_Yes._

The coil snapped, and Solas came undone with a howl to the heavens. Burning hot come splattering against his stomach, chest, and the jawbone resting there. Trickling thickly over the fingers still wrapped around his softening and spent cock. With a gasp Solas let himself sink fully into the perfect heat of the water around him. Breathing heavily of the cold night air and steam, he let himself float in the enshrouding night and froth. He was warm for the first time in weeks.

 

The next day found Solas packed and waiting on the path out of Surina. He was not at all surprised that Dorian had woken up more than a little hung over and the Inquisitor and The Iron Bull more than a little sore from their post dragon slaying festivities.

Dorian was complaining about the ungodly early hour and how the sun reflecting off of the snow and into his delicate eyes should be ashamed of itself when he espied Solas and his perfectly relaxed and content countenance. He was still wearing his socks. Socks that should be on Dorian’s numb toes, not _his ___, “And what’s got you in such a downright chipper mood this dreadful day?” he hissed at the pointy eared cretin. “Did you have fun going off and playing with yourself last night?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Solas replied leading the way back to Skyhold.

**Author's Note:**

> So I have a headcannon where Solas and Dorian are secretly bros. Thus why they can usually be found within close proximity of each other. They've got each other’s backs. They just don’t talk about it.
> 
> Also this was written to fill a couple of kinkmeme prompts:  
> http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/14591.html?view=55070207 Party of One: Solas  
> and here  
> http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/14591.html?page=11#comments masturbation solo-any!
> 
> Addendum: This writer does not own, and has no rights to, the Dragon Age Franchise.... unless you count the personally purchased copies of all the video games, comic books, and novels. This writer is not profiting in any way from this fan work.


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